Casablanca
by Portrait of a Scribe
Summary: By July 16, Steve had snapped at no less than three people. Sam could have cut the tension, but it would have taken a jackhammer and a stick of dynamite, and there was no guarantee it would have worked. Then Wanda suggested Casablanca for movie night. Rated for one F-bomb and mentions of stealth raids on the kitchen. Also, La Marseillaise.


**_Casablanca_**

 _By Portrait of a Scribe_

 _16 July, 2016. Wakanda._

There had been a terrorist attack in Nice two days previous. Steve had raged for hours about how he should have been there, should have done _something,_ even though they all knew that it would have made no difference, and that there had been no way he could have predicted the strike that had killed 84 and wounded over 200 others. Bucky had gone silent in the face of his friend's fury, and the sense of helplessness that had engulfed all of them had been crushing. Exiled in Wakanda as they were, they could not even go and help with the relief efforts or the cleanup, could do nothing to help the victims of a madman's cruelty and- if Parliamentary inquiry was to be believed- Islamist terrorism.

Stress levels were through the roof. By July 16, Steve had snapped at no less than three people, and Bucky was glaring so murderously at the wall of his room that Sam was beginning to fear for not only the wall, but the three feet of rock behind it, and the city beyond that. They were on a hair-trigger; Sam could have cut the tension, but it would have taken a jackhammer and a stick of dynamite, and there was no guarantee that it would have done the job. There was no relief for it.

It seemed that an explosion of epic proportions was all too imminent.

As soon as Wanda had suggested they watch _Casablanca_ for their- much diminished- team's first movie night in Wakanda, Sam's eyes had immediately flicked to Steve and Bucky with worry. Would Bucky be the one to shoot her down? Would Steve? Sam was just about to open his mouth to break it to her gently when Scott brightened and agreed that it was an excellent idea, and then Clint was grinning and saying, "Why not?" Before he could mediate the damage, T'Challa sealed the deal by asking what _Casablanca_ was, and there was absolutely _no fucking way_ that Scott and Clint, who were both cult-classics-cultists themselves, would let that stand without amelioration.

What followed was a raid so well coordinated that, not only was it executed with enviable precision, but also so quickly and furtively done that none of the other inhabitants of the palace were aware of its occurrence until the offensive team had successfully barricaded themselves inside what turned out to be a surprisingly plush home theater room.

Sam's head was spinning from how quickly it had all happened. There was enough popcorn to feed all of them, even including the two Super-Soldiers in their midst; there was popcorn with butter on it, popcorn with chocolate syrup drizzled over it- courtesy of Clint- and popcorn with caramel and marshmallows making it so sticky that they would have to chew it off their fingers. Scott had scrounged up Coca-Cola and Pepsi from somewhere, and Wanda had found a Dr. Pepper for Sam, and he would rather not know from whom she had stolen it, because it was his favorite soda, and if there was one thing that would make this night bearable, it was the sweet spice of the 26 flavors in his favorite fizzy.

Steve and Bucky were both completely silent as the opening credits began to play. It was even in the old black and white, though the music had been remastered and the picture sharpened courtesy of modern technology, but Amazon only had the monochrome, and it had vanished from Netflix, so the color was unavailable.

As soon as the outdated map of Africa faded and the opening scene commenced, Scott and Clint began quoting along with the film. Sam hardly paid attention. His eyes were fixated on the two men who had actually lived through the events which surrounded the movie. One was a stoic man whose temper could easily explode and result in various pieces of destroyed gym equipment and said man going incommunicado for several hours, only to be found later powering through the jungle at such high speeds that they would need a Quinjet just to keep up with him. The other was no less stoic, but his temper was just as fierce, and he could just as easily snap, and those around him might just find themselves the first casualties of a massacre. Sam did not know which, at this point, would be worse.

The movie progressed.

Steve and Bucky still did not move, not even to touch the cooling popcorn at their elbows- elbow- but there was a very slight easing of the tension in Steve's shoulders after the Nazi plane soared over Rick's _Café Americain_. The tension in Bucky's shoulders did not ease in the slightest.

Too late, Sam remembered from Bucky's file that he had fought in the North African campaign prior to being captured in Italy.

Steve abruptly straightened so stiffly that it looked painful, and then, after his spine cracked audibly, he sighed and relaxed again, rolling his shoulders so that his elbow bumped into Bucky's arm. The brunet tilted his head slightly in Steve's direction, and the blond tilted his head towards the other. After a second, the rigid line of Bucky's shoulders eased just slightly, and after that, things calmed marginally in the theater. Sam allowed himself to lean back in his comfortable chair and decided just to enjoy the film.

Time went by, and that, at an hour and ten minutes in, was when the Scene came on.

The second the German words of _Die Wacht An Rheim_ came over the speakers, Bucky visibly recoiled, and then began to growl. Everyone else noticed immediately, and Steve had become just as tense as his friend was. Their hackles were up, and Sam was about to dive for the remote and shut it off when Victor Laszlo and Rick Blaine had the band begin playing _La Marseillaise._

A sudden burst of motion made them all jump. What kept them staring was when Steve saluted the screen and began belting out the words in perfect French, in time with the actors on the screen.

An instant later, Bucky was standing next to him, his voice in perfect harmony with Steve's. Both men had their right hands up in salutes as they sang.

 _"_ _Allons, enfants de la patrie,_

 _Le jour de gloire est arrivé !_

 _Contre nous de la tyrannie,_

 _L'Étendard sanglant est levé !_

 _L'Étendard sanglant est levé !_

 _Entendez-vous, dans les campagnes_

 _Mugir ces féroces soldats ?_

 _Ils viennent jusque dans nos bras_

 _Egorger nos fils et nos compagnes-_

 _Aux armes, citoyens !_

 _Formez vos bataillons !_

 _Marchons ! Marchons !_

 _Qu'un sang impur,_

 _Abreuve nos sillons !_ _"_

 _"Vive la France!"_ Steve _hollered_ as the Germans on the screen began leaving, embarrassed by the incident.

" _Vive la démocratie!"_ Bucky agreed, and as Steve threw his arm across his friend's shoulders and tugged him into a hug, Sam saw light shining wet on their cheeks and knew that each man was weeping silently.

They were still laughing as they sat back down, all tension gone from them as they fixed their eyes upon the screen for the rest of the film. Bucky leaned against Steve, and Steve leaned against Bucky, and there was a closeness, there, that none of them had realized had been missing. Sam and the others said nothing about the outburst. In their own ways, they, too, were trying not to cry, not to show that they saw the bonds of brotherhood that were reasserting themselves between the two men. The fact that these two men still remembered what had happened the last time someone had tried to subjugate the world, had united against that tyranny and terror, had lived to tell of it and would do it again in a heartbeat, was awe-inspiring. It had been a long time coming, but knowing that people would unite time and time again behind France- and Freedom- did some good for their spirits. It also did them some good to watch as Bucky and Steve, two of the people who had been hurt the most by recent events, finally lost some of the strain that had been tearing them apart from the inside.

As the movie came to a close, Sam knew that they would all be able to sleep peacefully, tonight.

It was a good feeling.

* * *

 _Disclaimer: Casablanca, Captain America, and all characters and events depicted herein belong to their respective owners, and the tragedy of July 14 is an abomination that should not be repeated. The lyrics written herein are the words to La Marseillaise, the French national anthem. Very bloody song, that... Lovely, but bloody..._

My heart goes out to the people of France as they mourn after the events of last Thursday. Bastille Day is supposed to celebrate freedom, victory; Liberté, Égalité, Fraternité, but instead it became a day of tragedy. The thought of it sickens me, as does the realization that I have the capacity to do absolutely nothing about it at the current moment. All I have are my thoughts and prayers to give to them, and the support that I want nothing more than to give to them.

Casablanca was released in 1942. Steve, at least, probably would have seen it when it came out (actually, that might have been the movie he was about to see just before he got his ass kicked in TFA), and Bucky may have seen it before his captivity in Italy. They're familiar with the film, at least, and they both probably know French to some degree of fluency. So... Yeah. I just wanted to write them belting out La Marseillaise in that one scene. Guilty pleasure. Sue me. (No, don't actually sue me. I'm broke, you'd get nothing.)

Vive la France! Vive la democratie!


End file.
